Ken no Baka
by GenuineLies
Summary: About a crush. KenOmi. AyaYohji if you squint. And read carefully .


Disclaimer: not mine.

This fic is KenxOmi, kids.

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Blue eyes.

They looked like water.

No, they looked like the sky, after an especially vicious hit with a soccer ball...

Ken shook his head. /This/ he lamented, was why he was standing outside of the shop, observing, instead of inside /talking/ to the other boy. His friend. His best friend.

Supposedly.

Ken realized he was going to break the handles of his bike if he didn't stop mulling. He parked, and walked across the street.

Laughter. Sparkle. Grin. Sparkle. /No, don't look at Aya like that - /

Smack.

That last wasn't him thinking. That was the sound of him running face-first into a glass doorway.

/OW./

/That/ was him. This was like a daily meditation.../if you focus too far ahead you'll miss what's right in front of you.../

What was right in front of him, at the moment, were eyes the color of a chlorinated pool.

"STOP IT!" Ken railed at himself. /Stop trying to sound intelligent, baka...stop trying to be romantic.../

Omi took a step back, then reached forward and hauled Ken to his feet. "Stop what, Ken-kun? And are you ok? That looked painful..."

"Wasn't talking to you..." Ken mumbled, looking away.

It had all started a week ago.

All of them had been sitting at the dinner table, eating...well, eating dinner.

Omi had squeezed Aya's hand.

No, he wasn't kidding. He /squeezed Aya's/ hand. Not Yohji's. Aya's.

And Aya let him.

Granted, his sister had woken up the day before, and most likely the usually insane redhead was so beside himself with crazy that he had no idea he was even eating at the time.

Nevertheless, than brief, intimate moment with the Man that Did Not Emote had caused Ken to realize all sorts of things.

The first of which, at some point later, was that yelling at Aya to stop molesting Omi was a surefire way to get your face punched in.

The second of which was that no, that hadn't been a particularly normal reaction.

The realizations that had followed were equally as astute. Such as the one which - /oh, yeah / - informed him he was infatuated - in like with -

Fine. He loved his best friend.

Like /That./

Yes, he was male, Omi was male, and if you have a problem with that you can go to hell.

Lord knew he sent enough people there already.

"Ken-kun...?" Omi asked worriedly.

Ken blinked. "Yeah?"

"I asked," Omi's voice was a tad huffy, "Are you okay?"

Ken was speechless for a moment, thousands of possible ways to answer that sentence - none of them intelligent - running through his mind.

Omi pursed his lips.

Ken swallowed heavily.

Omi said, "What's been going on?"

Damn the kid for being intelligent.

"Going to get some ice," Ken muttered, and went inside.

xXxXxXx

/ Dinner again./

This time with Aya-chan.

The girl had been with them for a week. To the massive incredulity of the collective Weiss/Ran/ as the redhead was going by, was actually smiling. Several times a day, in fact.

And joking.

With Omi.

Well, ok, with the rest of them too.

But Aya -

Oh, don't get him started on her. She was like Omi on Red Bull. And she /touched/ people. Not in the Yohji I-want-to-get-laid-and-it's-gonna-be-you-sugar way, but in the I'm-too-cute-to-be-good-for-your-health way. And if anything, that innocence was going to be the complete downfall of his Omi.

Omi. Without the "his." No, with the "his." He WAS his.

No, without the his.

thwack

Ken blinked. Four pairs of eyes blinked in unison, then broke out into unanimous laughter.

Aya-chan, the little minx, reached across and pulled a noodle from Ken's head. "You were looking too serious," she said sweetly.

Omi was laughing at him.

Ken, not having a particular death-wish from the girl's self-appointed katana-wielding walking chip-on-the-shoulder, forced himself to laugh back.

Ten minutes later, he was in his room pounding his fist into the wall.

Door locked, of course.

xXxXxXx

"Ken," Aya growled. "Stop it."

They were in the flower shop. Aya did what Ayas - now Rans - do, which was create flower arrangements, monotonously, for five hours straight. Ken was doing what Kens do, which was seethe in impotent jealousy at a person who blatantly outmatched him.

In everything. Looks, skill, intelligence...attracting Omi...

Ken sneered - /oh, look, there goes his will to live/ - and replied, "Stop what."

Nonplussed, Aya didn't look up. "Staring at me."

Ken snorted.

Aya slammed his scissors down on the table.

They faced off.

Suddenly, Aya's shoulders relaxed. He gave him an assessing stare, then picked up his weapon again.

Damned pointy objects.

Ken braced himself.

Aya went back to cutting stems.

"You should tell him," the other man said.

And there went Ken's stomach. He ran to the bathroom and punched /another/ hole in the wall.

xXxXxXx

Dinner again.

This time, it was silent.

Everyone was looking at their plates, except for Omi, who was staring at his hand.

"Why'd you do that, Ken?" Omi asked quietly, eyes serious for once.

Ken gritted his teeth. "Slipped."

"Your fist slipped. Backwards, then forwards, into the wall." Omi's voice was incredulous.

"Leave it alone, Omi." Ken said, pushing noodles around on his plate.

"Ken, it's my job to -"

"Yes," Ken said, his voice more bitter than he realized, "it's your job to. And I'll tell you the second I can't do mine."

"Ken-kun, that's not what I meant -"

"It's what you said. You ask Aya - sorry/Ran, how he's doing all the time, because you want to. You ask me about my fist because it's your /job/. So let's-"

"Ken!" Yohji's voice was harsh. Surprisingly so.

Ken looked up. Omi eyes were wet.

Part of him rejoiced.

xXxXxXx

"Ken," It was Ran, talking through his door. Another surprising and unexpected side-effect of Aya-chan. "You idiot. Omi's in the basement."

There went Ran's word quota for the day. Footsteps down the hallway and then - Ken was just speculating now - to Yohji's room.

That blasted girl should come with a surgeon general's label.

xXxXxXx

Omi had cried himself to sleep.

He had a streak of drool down his chin, and the imprint of his keyboard on his cheek.

Ken didn't know what to do. He decided he'd put him to bed, because that was doing something and then, at least, his friend wouldn't wake up with one of those annoying cricks that stuck around for weeks.

He found himself sprawled on the floor a second later, Omi glaring down at him.

The glare softened a minute later, but the expression, for all it's surface innocence, was no more friendly.

"What do you want."

Ken looked away.

Omi gasped.

Ken looked up.

"Ken-kun, you idiot." Omi said.

Ken blinked. /Way to state the obvious, Omi./

"I mean," Omi babbled, "You're not an idiot."

Ken blinked. /You lost me, pal./

"You were just /acting/ like an idiot. I thought you hated me..."

/Now who's the idiot, Omi./

...was he blushing?

Omi, at some point, had turned the color of roses.

/Getting a little better with those analogies, sport./

And Omi was leaving. Booking it for the stairs.

...that was okay. Ken knew how to play /this/ game.

He tackled Omi to the floor before he reached the stairway, and on impulse, tickled the kid until he was a giggling mess.

Omi was the one who grabbed his head.

Omi was the one who slipped his tongue between his lips.

But ultimately, they said the same words at the same damned time.

xXxXxXx

"Your eyes remind me of who I want to be," Ken said, flat on the back on the grass, looking at a blue sky that couldn't possibly hope to compare. Omi looked up at him from his shoulder.

Ken smiled.

He was getting better with practice.

xXxXxXx


End file.
